I had expected stunning scenery. I had expected warm sun, ocean breezes, the sound of crashing surf. What I hadn’t expected when I came to Hawaii for the Maui Marathon was to make new friends. Yet the people I met and ran with turned out to be the highlight of the very pleasant race. For many miles, we were a group of three: Max, Jeannie and me.

Max and I fell in stride together less than half a mile into the race, while we were still running between the low concrete buildings of Wailuku in the early-morning dark. He was running his first marathon, I learned, and eager for any pacing and strategic advice. By the time we were out of town and heading up the dark highway between sugar cane and pineapple fields, I had discovered that he was from the Philippines, worked at a hotel near the one where I was staying, and lived in the community visible on our right as a scattering of lights in the shadow of the mountains silhouetted by moonlight.

I also learned that while this was his first attempt at the distance, he had been running for over a decade, with a few years off after the birth of his two children. After a promising half marathon eight months prior, he had prepared himself well for this attempt, with a solid base and runs of up to 18 miles. He was a runner, moving up to the marathon. This was his marathon—his home-town marathon, run on the route he drove to work everyday. As a tourist, running my 20th marathon, and, frankly, less well prepared than Max, I felt fortunate to share the road with him.

Somewhere around mile three Max disappeared in the dark. I slowed and looked around, and there he was catching up, with a 12-ounce Gatorade in hand. The night before, on his way home, he had cached 12 bottles on the route, hanging them behind the guard rail with fishing line and paper clips. After drinking half, he handed it to me. "Drink it," he said, waving it away when I had taken one sip and tried to hand it back. I did, and continued to drink half of each for the next 15 miles, in addition to the plentiful race-provided fluids, a factor which likely contributed greatly to my finishing time. Max’s generosity was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me in a marathon.

We caught up with Jeannie around mile five, still in the dark, and just about to crest the gradual hill we had been climbing while crossing the island valley. We passed her, then she caught us and fell into our pace. As we descended toward the coast and the sun began to warm the sky behind Halealaka over our left shoulder, we learned that Jeannie was from Honolulu, and she loved Maui. She had, in fact, run here nearly every year since 1986, had won five times, and still held two age-group records. This was her marathon too. She owned it, and I felt privileged to share a few of its miles with her.

Now she had three kids, and her training, like mine, was less than it used to be, making her a bit unsure of her pace. She seemed very comfortable at our pace, chatting and laughing with us, and sharing Max’s next Gatorade as we began the short climb up to the clifftops. She was delighted to learn that it was my first time in the islands, and Max’s first marathon. "You’ll never forget your first Maui," she assured us.

Now we were passing people who’d gone out too fast, shifting positions every mile, but sticking together as a group: the Maui veteran, the island novice, and the marathon novice. We shared nearly identical ages, and the joy and burden of young children, yet represented the great diversity of both the runners here and the population of the islands: Max, an immigrant, like thousands before from various parts of Asia who had come for jobs; Jeannie, a Minnesota native who had moved to the islands for "the people and the weather" more than 20 years ago; and me, a tourist, briefly enjoying this most remote and unique of the 50 states.

Afterward, it felt as if we’d run the whole distance together, although we split up with nearly 10 miles to go. Perhaps that feeling stems from sharing three of the five distinct stages of the course: the dark highway, the rolling hills above the cliffs with surf crashing far below, and the long flat road within spitting distance of the blue ocean.

When we moved apart, all that remained were more beachside miles, which blended together into one pleasant memory that made the course feel much shorter than 26.2 miles; the two miles through colorful and historical Lahaina; and the final two miles into the Ka’anapali resort—hot, sun-bleached miles, there to remind you that the marathon is indeed a long, long way so that you’ll better appreciate the finish line. At least, that’s how it seemed to me when I reached them.

Max had fallen back around mile 16, and, feeling fresh, I had pulled away from Jeannie soon after. As it turns out, I should have respected her veteran experience. To her credit, she was gracious when she blew past me as I was standing on the side of the road at mile 25, massaging out a cramp. She told me she too was close to cramping in the mounting heat, and that she’d see me at the finish.

I did see her at the finish, and Max too. We had finished within 10 minutes of each other, Jeannie’s Maui experience triumphing over my general marathoning experience, which in turn gave me the edge over Max. He, nonetheless, was the most ecstatic—rightfully so, after his smart, strong debut.

Two hours later I was floating on long, gently massaging waves, thinking about the question I had been asked repeatedly since arriving on the island: "Did you come to Maui just for the marathon?" I found the question surprising, and wondered if people were asked the same if their reason for coming was diving, or surfing, or sunbathing.

For me, the easy answer was "Yes." I have gone a lot of places "just for the marathon." A marathon is reason enough.

As I floated on the blue water, however, gazing at the green, pleated hills of Molokai across the straits, I began to question that answer. I looked back at the shore and watched my wife, relaxing on a lanai, look up from her book and wave. I thought about the luau we were looking forward to going to this evening, the warmth of everyone I had met, and the new friends I had made. I had come to Maui for the marathon, sure. But had I come to Maui just for the marathon? Not hardly.